


A Simple Hello

by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleakim/pseuds/peanutbutterjelly-pie
Summary: -“You're pathetic, Dean.”“Shut up, Sam!”“Reallypathetic.”(Dean tries to get a gorgeous guy’s attention - but it doesn’t go as expected.)





	A Simple Hello

“You're pathetic, Dean.”

“Shut up, Sam!”

“ _Really_ pathetic.”

Dean grumbles some incoherent words underneath his breath and glares at Sam across the pool table, his mouth a thin line. For the last fifteen minutes he had to listen to similar accusations in a row, over and over, and it's starting to strain his nerves.

Who the hell thought it'd be a good idea to invent annoying little brothers?

“How about we carry on with our game?” Dean suggests, pointing at the colorful billiard balls which are scattered all over the table in front of them. “That's why we're here, right?”

“We're here because I needed unwind for a bit and figured it'd be nice to spend some time with you,” Sam says. “After all, you're not the worst to hang out with.”

Dean scoffs. “Jeez, I'm feeling the love.”

Truth be told, Dean had been more than happy to accompany his brother when Sam proposed some quality time. Since his high achiever of a baby brother got his fancy job at that super important law office downtown a few months ago they barely had any time just for the two of them, so Dean didn't make much of a fuss when Sam dragged him to this weird hippie café/pool hall/place-where-dreams-die, ordered them some unidentifiable drinks and pushed a billiard cue into Dean's hands right after.

So yes, Dean had been more than determined to enjoy his time with Sam.

But his resolution went straight to hell as soon as he entered the place and noticed the blue-eyed guy sitting at a table near the window.

Disheveled hair. Stubble. Strong jawline. Tanned skin. A habit of chewing his sinful lips more often than not.

In one word: _gorgeous_.

Dean had been unable to focus on anything else ever since he laid eyes on the man.

“Just go over there,” Sam urges, for the millionth time. “You'd regret not seizing the opportunity and _I_ would be the one _never_ hearing the end of that!”

Dean scowls. “Just look at the guy!” he says. “He's reading a book and has his headphones plugged in – a clear indication that he wants to be left alone.” He sighs deeply. “Not to mention the fact that he looks like a college professor or something. He's probably reading Goethe and listening to some classical shit like Vivaldi. I don't have much to offer in that area.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You're far from stupid, Dean. You're a kindergarten teacher …”

“Yeah, glitter and unicorns.” Dean snorts. “Very impressive.”

“Just take a chance, moron!” Sam presses. “I think I saw him glancing at you a few times when you weren't looking. I'm quite sure you've got a shot.”

Dean finds himself hesitating for a moment. It sounds way too good to be true, actually.

“And how am I supposed to get his attention?”

Sam looks at him like he's an idiot. “Just go over there and say 'hello'.”

Dean blinks once, twice. “ _'Hello'_?” he repeats incredulously. “'That's your awesome advice? _'Hello'_?”

Sam pulls a face, obviously not happy with his brother's unenthusiastic response. “You're making this harder than it is.”

Dean lets his gaze linger on the guy for a moment again, noticing that he at some point abandoned his book and is now staring at his phone, his fingers gliding elegantly over the screen while he furrows his brows in concentration.

“Just look,” Dean sighs. “He's got a serious thinking face on. Probably talking with a colleague about a complicated math equation or about battle strategies of the Roman Empire. He won't be impressed by a simple _'hello'_!” The sheer thought seems ridiculous. “I guess the least he'd accept is a poem recited to him in a dramatic fashion. Preferably one by Goethe, of course.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “You're pathetic.”

So what?

It's not like he's the first person on the planet feeling insecure talking to man so freaking stunning you can even hear angels sing while looking at him.

“I don't know, Sammy,” Dean says. “He's just so …”

He flails with his arms, keen to show his helplessness somehow, but in the process totally forgets about the cue still in his hands.

And he rams the damned thing right into his eye!

Well, okay, he misses by maybe a mini inch, but it still _hurts like fucking hell!_

Dean exclaims in pain and surprise, stumbling backwards and _naturally_ knocking down the table right behind him in the process, the glasses on top of it falling over and crashing on the ground with the loudest noise imaginable.

_Great_.

Every single soul in this goddamned place is suddenly looking at him – even the gorgeous guy, as Dean realizes instantly – and Dean flushes all over, wondering if it's really possible to die of mortification.

It'd be quite convenient right now.

Dean presses his hand against the painful spot way too close to his eye and moans miserably, hating his life.

What the hell did he do to deserve this?

“Are you alright?” a voice next to him asks in concern.

At first he thinks it's Sam, probably just suppressing a laugh and feigning actual worry, but just a moment later Dean's head catches up on the fact that his brother's voice isn't _that_ gravelly deep.

No, it's someone else.

Dean cautiously blinks his eyes open and is immediately met with a gaze so intense and _so blue_ it takes his breath away for a second.

_Wow_.

He never thought that the man would be even more mind-boggling up close!

“Are you okay?” the guy repeats the question, his warm hand resting on Dean's shoulder and squeezing it slightly. “This looked quite unpleasant.”

Dean turns even redder, cursing his bad luck. Figures that he'd make an utter fool of himself right in front of the first person who makes his heart flutter _in ages_.

“Um …” Dean answers eloquently. “I'm … I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” the guys asks skeptically. “You're not hurt anywhere? You remember your name?”

Dean can't help his chuckle. “Yeah, man,” he says. “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The man still doesn't seem convinced. He leans closer, inspecting the spot where the cue hit Dean right into the face, and gestures at the woman behind the main counter, his movements obviously telling her everything she needs. Just a minute later Dean feels something cold pressing onto his face, making him wince.

“Sorry,” the guy apologizes, adjusting the ice bag a little bit. “You shouldn't underestimate injuries so close to the eyes. I mean, your case doesn't look bad, you'll probably just get a bruise, but a little ice won't hurt. At least it's going to lessen the swelling.”

Dean just stares at the man, not sure what to say. He's so close, his warm breath brushing over Dean's skin, and Dean feels his brain short-circuits.

“Uh …”

“Sorry again.” The guy's cheeks tinge pink. “I'm a doctor and sometimes I can't help myself. It's a curse.”

A doctor. Of course he is.

Dean isn't surprised at all.

“I'm Castiel, by the way,” he introduces himself with a smile.

“Castiel,” Dean tries the name on his tongue. It's unusual, angelic, and he kinda likes it.

He finds himself staring at Castiel, probably looking dazed and a tiny bit besotted, and he barely notices Sam appearing suddenly beside him and dragging him to a chair nearby, his strong arms determined to make sure Dean wouldn't be stupid enough to hurt himself once again. He pats his brother's back, mumbling something that sounds like fond exasperation.

Meanwhile Castiel sits down on a stool next to him, apparently not keen to leave him alone just yet.

“You're really okay?”

The insistent concern is rather endearing, Dean has to admit. “I'm fine,” he reassures, smiling shyly. “Just … embarrassed.”

Castiel laughs. “You don't have to be. Just a few days ago I went straight into one of the glass doors at the hospital I'm working. That dumb place has way too many of those.”

Yeah, that sounds like something that would have happened to Dean too.

“Still … it's embarrassing.” He shakes his head. “Figures.”

“To be honest, I'm actually quite glad this happened,” Castiel admits. Just a second later, however, his eyes widen as he realizes how that might have sounded and he's quick to add, “Of course I'm not happy that you got hurt, Dean. I didn't mean it like _that_.” He squirms, looking adorably flustered. “I just … since you came in I wanted to come over and talk to you.”

Dean listens up straightaway. “Seriously?”

Did he suffer some brain damage after all, hearing things he'd want to hear?

Castiel blushes and ducks his head. “The whole time I was contemplating how I should approach you. I even texted my brother and asked for advice because he's usually way better with handling social situations like this than I am. But he merely suggested to go over to you and just say 'hello'.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “Can you believe that? _'Hello'_?” He sighs deeply. “As if a simple _'hello'_ would be sufficient with … with _someone like you_.”

He gestures at Dean's everything and flushes some more.

And Sam huffs in the background, muttering something like “meant for each other”.

Dean, though … one minute he finds himself shell-shocked, just gaping slack-jawed at the stunning man in front of him, unable to actually believe what's happening right now, and then a moment later he's beaming all over the place. Like Christmas and Easter just arrived early together, walking through the door hand in hand.

_Damn_.

He can't remember the last time he's got so frigging lucky. And even if this indeed turns out to be the sole result of some serious concussion, it's one hell of a great hallucination.

“So … would you terribly mind if I would stay with you for a while?” Castiel asks, sounding sorta sheepish all of a sudden. “Just to be safe. Because of your injury and … stuff.”

Dean feels his heart melt. “Um … yeah, alright,” he agrees instantly. “That … that'd be nice of you.”

Castiel scoots closer right away as if he just got an invitation to forget any rules about personal bubbles ever invented. And Dean doesn't mind one bit.

On the contrary, he decreases the space between them even more as well.

“Well … read any good Goethe poems lately?” Dean asks, smirking. He even tries for a wink, but recalls his damaged face in the last moment.

Meanwhile, Castiel furrows his brows, looking rather confused for a second, before realizing that Dean's merely joking. So he answers, with as much conviction as possible, “I can't even recite one single Goethe poem to save my life.”

Dean laughs, aloud. Best news ever.

“That's _really_ good to hear, Cas.”

And by the end of the day Dean goes back home with a serious and most likely incurable crush, a new phone number in his pocket, a bright grin on his lips and a little brother that can't stop telling him over and over again that a simple 'hello' still would have been way less painful.

 


End file.
